I shut down for about a month. I changed the settings on my blog so it was invisible. I deactivated my Facebook account. I totally surrendered my website and domain name. I barely touched my camera.
I hid myself from the world. Julie Rivera, Photographer, died a sudden, invisible death.

I was amazed at the amount of time I had to myself. No blog to worry over. No Facebook friends to catch up with. No articles to read. No videos to watch. Certainly no emails from prospective clients to hope for.
I read four books. Adult books. No pictures included.
I unhurriedly laid with my 2 year old at bedtime, singing multiple renditions of "Jesus Loves Me," until she fell asleep for the first two nights in her newly converted toddler bed. I wasn't mentally calculating my strategy in escaping the room and hopping on the computer for 15 minutes before her sister's bedtime. I just settled in for as long as it took. I was a mother. No caveat, no hyphenated title. And it felt satisfyingly simple.
Yet, I still had a struggle. Despite the peaceful, easy flow of my family life during this last month, I felt I was missing something.
Almost shamefully, I confessed to myself that I needed applause. I needed to know I existed outside the realm of daily motherhood. I wanted to know that I resonated with someone, anyone, outside my small sphere of The Rivera Family of Five. So it was acknowledged. And accepted, though begrudgingly. I wish I didn't relish praise as much as I do. It seems prideful or embarrassing or negative somehow.
I activated my Facebook account on Saturday. I took pictures on Monday. Again on Tuesday. And today. I finally wrote this post with many starts, stops and deletions.
I won't hear that I was a good mother until my children are grown with children of their own. I know this because that is when I finally, fully realized what an amazing job my own mother did. But I do not have the wherewithal to wait 25 years before hearing I am good at something. I need something to tide me over when the rambunctiously well intentioned dance-a-thon in front of the television results in a two child pile up.
I will again toss out these bits of myself, the self that sees the early morning fog and dashes out to capture it before it is time to drive off to school. I will do it for me. And I am happy it you choose to tag along.